


I Will Deliver

by withthepilot



Series: Catholic Schoolboys AU [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Catholic School, M/M, Religious Themes & References, Schoolboys, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Zach are the polar opposites of their school yet both have things on their chest they need to confess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Deliver

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series.

Chris peers out from behind the open door of his locker, spotting the Quinto kid a few feet away, shoving textbooks into his backpack. He smirks to himself, looking down at his own practically empty bag, save for the one marble notebook that he doodles and writes song lyrics in, and from which he rips out paper to pass notes in class. Quinto's bag is nearly as big as him; he's surprised the boy doesn't fall over when he pulls it onto his back. Well, maybe Chris can make that happen. He shoves his leather jacket into the locker and shuts it with a loud, metallic slam.

"Oops," Chris says, a moment later, as he purposely bumps into Quinto, causing him to lose his balance and fall on the floor. The dark-haired boy doesn't cry out or yell profanities at him, just sits and rubs at his smarting arm before pulling himself upright again. Chris keeps his head turned as he walks so he can watch the entire thing, and then his friends descend upon him, laughing and patting his back in approval of the stunt.

Quinto only spares him a single, intense look before walking away in the opposite direction. Chris tries not to shiver, caught at the receiving end of the glare, and doesn't dare to let his friends catch on that he only did it as an excuse to touch the guy.

It's in Algebra—his least favorite, even worse than Religion—when Chris realizes someone is staring at him. He looks up from his bored doodles, leaning back lazily in his seat, and sees Quinto a few desks away, pinning him with his dark-eyed stare. The guy is probably still angry at him and Chris can't blame him, seeing as how he humiliated him without a second thought, but damn if that look on his face doesn't make Chris start to tent his uniform. He glares back defiantly, putting on a cocky smirk and slouching further in his seat, spreading his knees apart. He exhales faintly as he sees Quinto's gaze travel over him, from his gelled and haphazardly spiked hair to the hand-rolled cigarette perched behind his ear, and—maybe, just maybe—to the subtle bulge between his thighs.

"Zachary," the teacher suddenly calls from the front of the room. Quinto looks away from Chris and obediently answers the next question, and suddenly their little staring contest is over. Chris is intrigued, though—maybe the boy isn't as straitlaced as he thought. He snaps his gum and goes back to his doodle, already plotting in his mind.

The end of the day eventually comes and Quinto is nowhere in sight, not near his locker or in the boy's room. Chris grumbles to himself, slinging his bag over one shoulder and shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Quinto and his prudishly hot ass have now been at the forefront of his thoughts all afternoon; he hoped to at least catch a glimpse of him before the end of the day. Annoyed, he decides to head to the chapel and pursue some delinquent activities, like ripping pages out of prayer books or pretending to be the priest in the confessional booth.

In the end, he decides on the confessional and sits down in the booth with a pleased sigh. Sure, it's _wrong_ , imitating a priest and essentially duping all these sad-sack believers, but god, does he get to hear a lot of juicy gossip when he does it. It's how he found out that Zoe Saldana recently discovered her clitoris (and surely it was a beautiful discovery indeed) and that John Cho and Karl Urban have been meeting up every night for dirty, illicit sex in the backseat of Karl's piece of shit car. That stuff was all sweet music to Chris' ears.

He's nearly falling asleep in the booth when someone comes in and sits down heavily, rousing Chris from his daze. He shifts back to stay mostly hidden and smiles to himself, wondering what interesting tidbit he'll learn today.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," a quiet but steely voice on the other side says. "It's been a week since my last confession."

Chris' eyes go wide, recognizing the voice immediately. Zachary Quinto. Oh, shit, but this is just fucking _perfect_. He pauses, trying to summon his voice to reply.

"What is it that brings you here?" Chris says, making his voice slightly deeper. He presses his ear to the grid between them and glances through it quickly, getting a bit stiff at the sight of Quinto down on the kneeler, his head hanging low in shame.

"I've been having...impure thoughts," Quinto says, his breath coming out as a shudder. "About another student."

Chris licks his lips, hardly able to believe what he's hearing. Quinto looks and sounds so fucking good on the other side of that wall, and he's about to confess something dirty and wrong—and not just to anyone, to _him_. "Tell me about the student," he instructs, and that probably isn't what Quinto expects to hear, given his brief moment of hesitation. But then he obeys the order, the way he always does.

"He's...really popular. Kind of a rebel. He has blond, spiky hair and these intense blue eyes and he's always teasing me and giving me dirty looks, but...I can't stop _thinking_ about him."

Chris' hand slides it way between his thighs and he presses his cock through his trousers subtly, biting his lip. Fuck, that's _him_ Quinto is talking about. He has to concentrate on keeping his voice masked. "Tell me what you think about," he says, so soft it's almost a whisper.

"I...I think about him pinning me to the lockers and...having his way with me. Or...s-sometimes, I think about being angry with him and bending him over one of the classroom desks, and..." Chris' breathing hitches and he hopes like hell that Quinto didn't hear it. "...And getting him back for messing with me."

"Do...do you have these thoughts about other men, too?" Chris asks. His throat feels dry and he's pressing his hand harder against his cock, easily coaxing it to hardness through the fabric. Quinto— _Zach_ —is driving him crazy now with these secret fantasies.

"All the time," he whispers, and he sounds so fearful and ashamed but also a little aroused, if the rasp in his voice is any indication. The thought that Zach might be getting off on confessing his sinful thoughts is all that Chris' cock needs to twitch to attention in his pants and start leaking against the polyester, heavy and full.

"Tell me what he does to you," he murmurs, peering through the grid again. He can see that Zach's eyes are closed, the curve of his mouth hanging slightly open. Chris wonders if he's rocking his hips down against the kneeler. God, he hopes so.

"He...touches me all over and taunts me. Tells me I'm his and takes me into his mouth. And his mouth is...he puts it everywhere. He...pulls my hair and makes me suck him."

It's so dark in the booth but if Chris squints he can see a bead of sweat trail down from Zach's temple to his jaw, and it's mirrored by the sweat he feels sliding down his own back, beneath his uniform shirt. He opens the front of his trousers, squeezing down the length of his cock. "And what does he say to you? What does he call you?"

Zach's voice is a broken whisper now. "Zachary. Whore."

Chris feels something snap inside and he flies from his seat, opening the door and moving to the other side of the booth, entering to find Zach kneeling and already pumping at his reddened cock. The dark-haired boy looks up with a wild, shocked look in his eyes and gasps at the sight of Chris, who feels the light behind him, brightly framing his golden hair like a halo. He knows the look in his blue eyes must be just as wild.

"Jesus Christ, Quinto," Chris whispers. He hauls Zach up to his feet by his dress shirt and backs him up hard against the frame of the booth, pulling the door shut behind him. Before Zach can utter a word, Chris is kissing him, hard and hungry, fisting his hands in his shirt and pressing against him to rub their exposed cocks together. Zach moans throatily into Chris' mouth, tilting up into the slick friction, and Chris hikes his shirt halfway up his pale torso. "You're fucking _filthy_ ," he whispers, biting at Zach's lip for emphasis, licking away the bead of blood that wells up. "Jacking off in a confessional booth...all your dirty thoughts about me..."

"God, Chris, _please_..." Zach trembles against him and sounds as desperate as he feels, rutting faster and clutching at Chris' jacket, pressing his face to the leather, then to Chris' neck. "Fuck, so good, you're so good, don't stop..."

"Won't...Zachary, you little slut, _fuck_."

Chris reaches down and grabs Zach's ass, pulling him closer. He rolls his hips at a new angle and it has him jerking and seeing stars faster than he can stop it. It happens all too soon, but a needy gasp leaves Chris' mouth and he muffles a groan against Zach's shoulder, spilling hard and heavy over his bare stomach, causing Zach to shudder. Before he can think twice, Chris holds onto Zach's belt loops and sinks down, coming to rest on the kneeler as he takes Zach's cock into his mouth, sucking eagerly at the head. He feels Zach's stifled moan rippling through his body before he hears it, and he swirls his tongue with a grateful hum when the boy's long fingers come to clench in his sticky, gel-ridden hair. Zach comes with nothing more than a jerk of his hips and a faint cry, his cock pulsing and hot as he shoots into Chris' mouth, leaving his lips slick and puffy.

They go still and quiet then, save for their panting breaths, listening carefully to hear if anyone else is nearby. A couple of silent minutes go by and they lock eyes, Zach swallowing visibly when Chris licks his lips.

"Make you a deal," Chris finally whispers, arching a brow. "School's deserted by now. I'll take care of that locker fantasy if you give me a tour of your Algebra desk."

Zach grins slightly, running his hands over the slightly worn leather covering Chris' shoulders. "Deal," he murmurs.

He grabs Chris' tie just below the knot, and with a forceful pull that takes him by surprise, gets him back on his feet. Chris rocks forward, pressing a palm against the wall, and lets their mouths graze together, their parted lips catching.

"Oops," is all he says.


End file.
